Past Actions
by masterctarl
Summary: Joe and Frank's past is catching up to them. Literally. Chapter 3: A stakeout at the docks reveals more about the kidnapping, and why Frank doesn't want Joe to remember it. Slight language warning. Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
1. Joe's Dream

Chapter 1:

Joe's Dream

'Where am I?' Joe thought, looking around. Last he remembered he and Frank were chasing after a pair of smugglers.

He listened and could hear children laughing. He went toward the sound and saw two little boys running and playing. One had brown hair and the other blond. The blond was younger than the brunette. Joe soon came into realization of the scene. 'That's me and Frank as kids!' he thought, watching as a background of the park and another little boy melted in. 'That's Chet!'

A car drove up to the park and stopped, someone watching the kids from the back passenger's seat with the window rolled down. 'I don't recognize him…' Joe thought, moving closer to the car. The man watching opened the door and he and two other large men came out. 'I don't like this.' Joe moved to stand in front of them and was taken off guard as they passed right through him. No one seemed to see, hear, or sense him.

The children stopped playing as the men approached them. "Fenton Hardy's boys?" the leader asked. He had brown hair and blue eyes. He was well built but not as heavily muscled as his companions.

"What do you want?" the little Frank asked, standing in front of his little brother. The leader smirked and made a signal. The two large men moved in and picked the boys up easily, despite their struggling.

"You!" the leader shouted at the retreating Chet Morton. "Tell Fenton Hardy that if he wants to see his sons alive again, then he'll have to come to the old fishing docks tonight _alone_, got it?" Chet looked back and nodded helplessly, continuing for the Hardy's house.

'Why am I seeing this?' Joe thought. He watched as the younger forms of Frank and himself were tossed into the back of the car and it drove away.

"No!" Joe yelled, bolting up in bed. He was sweating bullets and it took him a few seconds to realize his head was pounding.

Frank started and almost fell out of the chair he'd been sleeping in next to Joe's bed. He looked at his brother, who was holding his bandaged head. "Joe?" he asked cautiously.

"Frank?" Joe groaned painfully. "What happened?"

"While we were chasing the smugglers we ended up losing them in the park. One of them came up behind us and hit you in the back of the head with the butt of his gun. I would have gone after him, but you were bleeding pretty badly and I let him go to call dad and an ambulance."

"Wait, did you say we were in the park?" Joe's eyes widened.

"Yeah…" Frank answered.

"Do you…do you remember us getting…something happening to us in the park when we were kids?" Joe asked.

"No," Frank said. "We played there a lot, but nothing ever happened." If it wasn't the middle of the night and if the lights weren't out Joe would have noticed that Frank had a look of insincerity in his eyes.


	2. Back to the Park

Chapter 2: Back to the Park

Chapter 2:

Back to the Park

Joe soon recovered from his attack and was back on his feet. "Frank?" he asked, walking into Frank's room. Frank was pulling a shirt on. "Frank, I was just thinking…"

"Yeah?" Frank said, fixing his collar.

"Do you want to see if mom will make us a picnic lunch, so we can go to the park and relax?" Joe asked.

"Why?" Frank asked, looking at his younger brother quizzically. "Don't you want to catch the smugglers?"

"My mind's craving sunshine," Joe said, smiling. "And maybe a little fresh air. Being cooped up in the house isn't fun."

"Neither is worrying sick about your little brother…" Frank joked. "Sure, why not? You go ahead, I'll be right down." Joe nodded and took off. Frank's smile faded and he sighed, remembering Joe's question about the park. He'd asked if anything had happened to them when they were younger in the park. The question had taken Frank by surprise. Not because Joe forgot what happened, but rather because he remembered.

Frank shook his head and walked downstairs in time to see Joe bringing the picnic basket into the kitchen. "Mom said yes?" he inquired.

"No, I'm using it for a science project," Joe said sarcastically. Frank playfully punched him in the arm.

"Be nice to your brother, Frank," Laura Hardy said, though she was smiling.

"He started it," Frank insisted.

"He started it," Joe echoed in his most annoying voice.

"You boys really do need to get out," Aunt Gertrude sighed. She was making sandwiches while Laura cut some fruit up, putting it in Tupperware. "You're sure you're not just going there to try and find the smugglers, but are telling us you're having a picnic so we don't worry?" she asked, the tone of her voice telling Frank that she'd already asked Joe this question.

"We promise, Aunt Gertrude," Frank smiled. "Joe just wants some fresh air. Besides, if we were going to catch smugglers we wouldn't put your Tupperware in danger."

"Oh, hardy har-har," it was their mother's turn to be sarcastic.

In the park, Joe and Frank stretched out lazily on the picnic blanket, lunch half-eaten, watching some kids play soccer. "Didn't we used to play soccer all the time here?" Joe asked.

"Yeah," Frank answered, smiling. "Kinda seems like forever ago, doesn't it?"

"Tell me about it." They settled into silence, Joe lying back and putting his hands behind his head. After a moment, though, he bolted straight up, startled. "What was that?" he asked.

"What?" Frank asked, putting himself on alert.

"Didn't you hear that?" Joe looked at him. "It sounded like some kid was crying!"

"We're in a park with a bunch of kids playing all over," Frank pointed out. "You probably just heard some kid nearby fall down or something."

Joe considered this. It didn't seem right. "The kid I heard sounded…scared, though," he said slowly, trying to describe it. "Like something really bad happened."

Frank looked at him for a moment, getting concerned. "I didn't hear anything, Joe. Maybe you're not as recovered from that blow to the head as we thought."

Joe sighed. "Right, I'm probably just imagining it, right?" he asked. He stood up, frustrated. "I'm gonna walk around a bit. Clear my head."

"You want me to come?" Frank asked, starting to get up as well.

"No, I'm fine. Make sure no one swipes the picnic stuff," Joe said, walking off.

Frank shook his head. This was starting to get out of hand. He hated lying to Joe, but he had to protect him. Whatever mental blocks Joe's mind had put up against what had happened those 11 years ago were crumbling, and Frank would do whatever he could to prevent that from happening. He wouldn't let it haunt Joe like it haunted him.

Joe felt better how that he could think without Frank there to try and dictate it. Frank had always been like that, ever since they were kids. He liked to tell Joe what he was thinking and why, as if Joe couldn't even think his own thoughts without Frank's help. They'd done good to grow out of a lot of things, but not that.

The thing Frank had the hardest time outgrowing, though, was being the overprotective older brother. It took until Joe was 15 and tackled a guy to the ground that had stolen Frank's new CD player for the older to really come to the realization that his little brother didn't need him to protect him from the big, bad world. Even now, though, he did it all the time. It seemed as if when the smallest thing happened on a case to Joe, Frank would drop everything to help him. Not that he was complaining about the last one, bleeding out from a head wound in the park would have put a damper on their investigation.

"For God's sake, I'm on the football team, Frank!" Joe said aloud, satisfied that he was out of earshot and Frank wouldn't hear him. "What about that _doesn't_ say 'I can take care of myself'?" That was when he heard it again. The sound of a child crying. He looked around quickly, trying to find the source. Some little kid could be hurt and he seemed to be the only one who could hear it.

Joe headed toward where he thought the voice was coming from, leading him out of the park. He considered going back and telling Frank, but remembered that he didn't believe in the voice anyway. "Frank won't freak out if I'm gone for a little while longer," he decided. So Joe continued and, sure enough, the voice kept getting louder the farther he went. He was sure he couldn't have heard someone's voice from this far away, but it was worth a shot to see what he'd find anyway.

Joe finally turned a corner and suddenly the crying was deafening. He closed his eyes and grabbed his head, but something seemed to appear before his closed eyes. It was the car from his dream. The image seemed to move on it's own, zooming into the window and the occupants. There sat little Frank and Joe as kids, Joe crying and scared and Frank holding him and trying to calm him down. Even then, so young, Frank was observing everything; trying to figure out a way out of the mess they were in.

"_Yeah, boss, we've got Hardy's brats,"_ the leader of the three men who kidnapped them said into the payphone next to the car. _"We're bringing them to the dock. Trust me; he'll drop the investigation when he sees the twerps."_

"_Frank…"_ Joe had been concentrating on the man talking on the phone, so it caught him off guard when the little version of himself started whispering to the young Frank. _"What're we going to do?"_ His voice hiccupped and his breath hitched.

"_I don't know…"_ the little Frank replied, tightening his hold on his brother.

"_Hey! Shut up back there!" _one of the two muscles, who was standing right outside of the open car door, snapped. The little Joe whimpered a bit.

"_Sorry, they're giving us a little trouble,"_ the man on the phone said. _"We're thinking of roughing one of them up a bit to emphasize our point. No, don't worry, nothing permanent. Nothing they could trace back to us. Just a little…showcasing of how serious we are."_

"Yo, dude!" Joe was snapped back into reality by a guy a little younger than himself. He was standing right in front of Joe.

"Sorry?" Joe blinked a couple of time.

"I asked if you wanted an Aspirin. You look like you have a killer headache," the young man replied.

"Oh, no, thanks," Joe shook his head, and then regretted it. He looked around, waiting for the pain to pass. He was still standing right where he'd experienced the sudden migraine.

"Suit yourself, dude," the teenager mounted his skateboard and rode off. Joe decided it best to head back before Frank started to worry.

The whole way back he pondered this addition to that dream he'd had. He wasn't sure, but it all felt so familiar. 'Is this a memory?' he thought to himself as he crossed the park. 'Frank said nothing happened at the park when we were younger, and this definitely doesn't qualify as _nothing_.' After a moment he shook his head. 'Frank wouldn't lie to me. Especially about something this serious.'

"There you are!" Frank said, picking up the picnic basket. He'd already packed everything up.

"Are we heading back already?" Joe asked.

"Already?" Frank raised an eyebrow. "It's getting late; you were gone for over an hour. I was just about to go look for you."

"Oh, jeez, really?" Joe looked at his watch. It was already past five. "Sorry, I must have lost track of time."

"You're telling me," Frank smirked. His face then went serious. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just got lost in thought," Joe smiled. He thought it best to not bring up his episode at the street corner.

"Good, then let's get back or _mom_ will start worrying," Frank said, throwing an arm around Joe's shoulder.

'Frank wouldn't lie to me…' Joe thought again as they walked home. '…would he?'


	3. Breaking Free

Chapter 3  
Breaking Free

"How are we doing on that side?" Frank asked Joe through their two-ways. He had his binoculars fixated on a shipping platform on the docks, trying to spot the smugglers they'd lost a week previous. It seemed the fresh air Joe looked for in the park did well for them, and he was fully ready to get out there and try again. He was mostly looking for a little payback for the bump still remaining on his head, but Frank knew when it counted Joe wouldn't do anything too rash.

"Nothing yet. Are you sure your source said they'd be down here tonight?" Joe replied, on the other side of the docks. He scanned the platforms, but couldn't find a sign of the jerks who had clocked him. "Maybe they wised up and decided to move onto another town or something."

"No, you know smugglers. If they've found a route that works for them, they don't give it up easily. They'll be here."

"Whatever you say, bro. You're the smart one."

"And don't you forget it."

Joe snorted and put his two-way down, eliminating the distraction. He instead concentrated on the faces of the men wandering around the docks, loading and unloading freights and doing general tough-guy work. He himself was on top of one of the roofs of the warehouses, his brother as well though on the other side of the docks. The dock manager had given them permission to set up around there to try and catch the smugglers. In his words, "If anyone's usin' my docks for illegal work, I want you to catch 'em and throw their asses in the slam. I ain't toleratin' that crap." Joe smirked remembering that moment. When he was that guy's age, he hoped he'd be just as tough and generally awesome.

The dock manager, a man of about 48 named Irving MacKellan, had worked hard to get the job and had been dock manager for about 22 years. He was huge, both height-wise and in muscle mass. He didn't believe in just sitting around and watching other men do all the work, volunteering himself if any of the men were having problems carrying freight or working machines. Irving could probably carry boxes it would usually take two men to carry. Joe had a certain fondness in Irving, he considered him like that tough old uncle all of the guys in the family liked but made the girls cringe at family reunions. The one who, despite his size and gruff manner, was a softy at heart. He knew Irving would never hurt a fly, but would never tell anyone else. After all, the dock manager had a reputation to uphold.

"Hey, Joe, I think I've got something over here," Frank's voice cut through his thoughts over the two-way.

"What is it?" the younger hardy asked, picking his two-way up again.

"Man, late thirties, dark hair, slight limp, tattoo of a red-haired woman holding a machinegun on his left arm."

"That's one of our guys, alright," Joe replied, standing up and wiping the dirt off his jeans. "Hold on, I'll meet you in Warehouse 5." Warehouse 5 was the warehouse Frank was sitting on top of. It was also where they were given permission by Irving to set up shop for catching the smugglers. The warehouse had been recently cleared out, the business that had used it before having gone bankrupt and needing to get rid of everything.

"Roger that. You'd better hurry, though, it looks like he's helping load some stuff on the ship. They'll probably be pulling out soon, and who knows when we'll have another chance like this?" Frank warned.

"No prob, I'll see you in a minute. Joe out."

Joe put the two-way and his binoculars into the bag next to him and hurried to the back of Warehouse 30's roof, all but sliding down the ladder to the ground. He then hurried past the backs of the warehouses, making sure none of the dock-workers saw him. They weren't sure how many people were involved in the smuggling, so almost everyone who worked there was a suspect.

He was just passing Warehouse 22 when it happened. The sound of a child screaming entered his head. It pierced past his senses, causing him to stop and cringe, grabbing his head in pain. 'No!' he thought desperately, opening an eye and looking for somewhere to duck down until this passed. 'Not this! Not now!'

Joe spotted the backdoor to Warehouse 22, which was cracked open a bit. It was suspicious, but he didn't have time to think. He instead all but rushed in, shutting the door behind him and almost collapsing from the feeling of pain shooting through his brain like a needle. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard himself yell in pain. He finally just stopped fighting it and let whatever was fighting to break free go. Immediately it happened again. That scream pierced his mind, but this time there was a face to it. And the face was his own, again just a child.

"_Shut that damn kid up!"_ the voice that penetrated his head this time was the voice of the brown haired leader of the three men that had grabbed them in the park in those visions. Joe finally opened his eyes and saw one of the muscles holding him, the child him, by the arms. The little Joe was crying even more than before, staring in horror ahead of him.

It was the yelp of pain that caught Joe's attention. He followed his younger form's eyes and saw the other muscle standing over kid-Frank's body, which was sprawled out on the ground. The little Frank sat up, a pained look on his face. He had several bruises and what Joe was pretty sure was a fractured wrist. Little Frank looked back at his brother, rubbing the new, fresh bruise on his cheek.

"_Frank!"_ little Joe struggled, trying to get away from the man holding him back and help his older brother.

"_I told you to shut the brat up! He's gonna attract attention!"_ the leader snapped. He was leaning against a wall of the warehouse they were in, not really seeming to show much interest in what was happening to little Frank.

"_Sorry, boss. This kid's a fighter!"_ the muscle holding little Joe said, trying to keep a grasp on the squirming child. He finally just got one arm around the blond child, pinning his arms to his sides, and covered his mouth with a huge hand. This was a bad move. The little Joe used the opportunity to bit him as hard as he could. _"Oww!"_ the muscle yelped, dropping the child.

The little Joe took the opportunity to start running toward his brother. Unfortunately, he didn't get far. _"You little snot!"_ the muscle snapped, grabbing little Joe roughly by the arm and shaking him hard. The little Joe screamed, scared and hurt.

"_Joe!"_ little Frank this time tried to run to his brother's aide, but the other muscle stopped him by hitting him hard on the back of the head with his fist. Little Frank's eyes seemed to roll back and he dropped to the floor.

"_Stop! Please!"_ the little Joe squealed, more afraid than ever. _"Frank!"_

"_You idiots!"_ the leader finally stepped forward. _"You!"_ he pointed at the muscle holding little Joe, _"I told you to shut him up! Not make him louder! And you!"_ this time he pointed at the muscle picking up the unconscious little Frank, _"I told you not to do anything permanent! If he has a concussion, you're dead meat!"_ He then turned to little Joe, who seemed paralyzed under his gaze. _"And you. One more sound out of you and whether or not daddy's coming to save you will be the least of your worries. Got it?"_ The little Joe nodded quickly. _"Got it?!"_ he then snapped at the muscles.

"Joseph!" Joe's eyes shot open, staring wide up at a man kneeling next to him. It took him a moment to recognize the slightly graying dark hair and blue eyes of Irving MacKellan. His hugely muscled arms were holding him up by the shoulders into a sitting position and his whiskered face was twisted with concern. "Are ye alright, lad?" he asked. His voice was rough and scratchy.

"Y-yeah…I think so…" Joe rubbed his throbbing head and cringed. "What happened?"

"You tell me," Irving replied. "I got a call about ten minutes ago that you never made it to Warehouse 5 and yer brother and I have been searchin' all over for ya. Found ya here passed out. Doesn't look like ya got hit on the head again or anythin'."

"No, I didn't," Joe said, standing up painfully. He looked at Irving and decided he had to tell someone about what was happening to him, even if he couldn't tell Frank. "I think I just fainted. Irving, does Frank know you found me?"

"No, lad," Irving shook his head. "I was just about to call him." He helped Joe keep his footing. "And I think it'd be best to do so as soon as possible."

"No!" Joe said suddenly. Irving gave him a puzzled look. "Just hear me out first. Irving, you've been running these docks for as long as I can remember. Do you remember something 11 years ago that happened to Frank and I right here on the docks?"

"11 years ago?" Irving hesitated. "Lad, business here was pretty bad, overrun with crime and smugglers everywhere. I didn't much come down here at the time. Not until I realized I had to do somethin' about it and started helpin' the police clean 'em up."

"I know, but you do know something, don't you?" Joe said, looking at him sternly. "Irving, what happened? And why can't I remember it? And why is everyone hiding it from me?"

"Well, lad, it sounds like ya've already figured most of it out," Irving pursed his lips together and sat Joe down on one of the crates. "To answer yer questions in order, yer father was on a case 11 years ago involving smugglin' here on the docks an' so one of the groups decided to kidnap ye and yer brother. They told yer father if he dropped the case they'd give ye back to him. I think yer mind somehow forced the whole thing to some remote part of yer brain, because it was all pretty traumatizin'. And we're not hidin' it from ye, we just figured ya were happier not rememberin'."

Joe sat on the crate a moment, taking this all in. He then sighed. "The problem is I'm not happier not knowing. I think when those smugglers hit me on the head they jarred my mental blocks loose and now it's all trying to force itself back to the surface." He looked at Irving, who still looked worried, and smiled. "Hey Irving, thanks for being straight with me. I just wish Frank would tell the truth instead of trying to protect me."

"I think he just feels guilty cause he couldn't protect ye then, lad. Don't be too hard on yer brother. Take it from someone who knows; bein' a big brother isn't easy," Irving put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be too hard on Frank."

"You have a younger brother?" Joe asked. In all the years he knew Irving, he'd never known about that.

"Yeah, we don't talk much. Unfortunately, he did something horrible and landed himself in jail," Irving seemed to be purposefully vague about it, but Joe was now curious.

"What'd he do?" Joe asked, though he knew it was rude to.

Irving looked at him a moment, then ruffled his blond hair. "Another time, Joseph. Right now yer brother's worried about you. Come on, I'll call him and we'll meet him elsewhere." He stood up and called Frank on his cellphone. After agreeing that they'd meet him back at Warehouse 5, and assuring that they'd make it this time, they headed out.

"Hey, Irving," Joe inquired on their way. "What happened when dad came to meet those guys here at the dock?"

Irving seemed to consider telling him for a moment. He then shook his head and smiled. "Yer gonna hafta figure that one out for yerself, Joseph. It sounds like those memories have a mind of their own. When they want ye to know, they'll let themselves out. Ye just hafta be patient."

"Patience isn't my best virtue," Joe muttered.

Irving let out a laugh. "I've known that a long time, Joseph Hardy!"


End file.
